In a small house under the mountains, a beam of sunlight streamed into Alina’s room and shined the side of her bed. Waking up was no longer the pleasure it was. Alina looked at the calendar on the wall of her room, November 14th 1945. Staying in bed, Alina stared up at the white ceiling and thought of the conversation between her mother and Carol - a close neighbor - which Alina had overheard last night. The talk was about the letter that Alina’s dad sent back home after he left for Japan. Alina missed her dad and was proud of him representing her country and going to Japan to make new l
She sighed, and dragged herself out of bed. When she entered the kitchen, the sour scent of black coffee pierced through her foggy veil of sleep. Alina’s mom,
…show more content…
Alina pretended as if nothing happened and said, “Good morning, Mom,” Julie’s eyes lingered around Alina as if wanting to say something, but in a second she turned away and resumed reading the newspaper. Alina quickly got ready for school wanting to refresh her mind with the fresh morning air.
“Have a good day Alina!” said Julie as soon as Alina stepped out on the front porch. She began to walk towards the traffic light with tons of thoughts swarming in her head. ‘Why do I have to move to Japan?’, ‘What is going to happen to me once I get there?’, ‘Will I be able to adjust to the new life?’. Too many questions piled up against each other.
Once Alina got to school, she decided that she needed some time to ponder. She wandered around the school as if she didn’t have any spirit. “RING,” the school bell rang. Although Alina was a diligent student, she didn’t want to listen to anyone or anything right this moment. She headed towards the cafeteria and sat down at a solitary chair in the corner. The thick silence wafted all around the cafeteria, but was broken by a quiet sob. She felt a tear break free with the rest followed with an unbroken stream. Alina felt vulnerable and
…show more content…
Corbett, took the attendance and found out that Alina was absent. He immediately contacted Alina’s mother only to find out that Alina left for school today as usual. Julie, becoming frantic, ran to the car and raced to Alina’s school. The possible scenarios raced through her head which made her even more desperate. Looking outside of the car, the trees bolted out of sight as soon as they showed up. After she finally arrived in the school, she ran up the stairs and called out her daughter’s name. She knew that Alina wouldn’t have went too far. When she arrived in front of her daughter’s classroom, she was relieved at the sight of her classmates and her teacher searching for Alina as well. “Mr. Corbett! I found Alina!” shouted one of Alina’s classmates. Julie ran towards the cafeteria to find her daughter with her head on the table, sobbing quietly.
“Alina! Where were you! I mean...Why are you here?” Alina looked up with empty, saggy eyelids. This was not her daughter; her daughter was a bright girl who looked at the good side when a difficult situation comes to
Ward, Geoffrey C. and Burns, Ken, The War, An Intimate History 1941-1945. (New York: Knopf 2007)
“Tomorrow When The War Began” is a novel written by the author John Marsden which includes valuable lessons of resilience when hardships arise and courage over fear to save other lives. Two characters that portray these themes are Ellie and Robyn. Ellie overcomes the hardship of killing young soldiers and Robyn overcomes fear in order to save other lives, by putting her life at risk. John Marsden’s story emphasizes the life lessons which Ellie and Robyn have to experience to save their hometown of Wirrawee.
As I enter my last week as a twenty-year-old, I find myself nostalgically looking back on the past two decades while wondering what life has in store for me over the next two. Where will I be in twenty years? What will I have accomplished? Where will I be living? Will I be married? Have chil… wait a minute, no, that one will have to wait a few more years. These questions have all passed through my mind at one point or another over the last few weeks, but I realize that they are really quite a luxury. Paul, the narrator of Erich Maria Remarque’s All Quiet on the Western Front, never had the opportunity to lean back from his desk and daydream about what the next twenty years of his life had in store for him. He was busy dodging bullets and artillery shells, trying to stay alive on Germany’s Western Front during World War I.
The school board tried to tell Anne the way things should be ran in the school, even when they were desperate for her to teach their kids in the secluded town they all found themselves in. The school board needed an educati...
In Mrs. Miniver, a novel of about 300 pages, Jan Struther writes about the simple and fulfilling life of Kay Miniver and her family as they go through the struggles of WWII. Struther shows Mrs. Miniver’s optimism and vitality despite the effects of the war on her family. A narrator, who watches the family through dialogue between the family and other characters, tells the novel. Mrs. Miniver is often alone admiring something and commenting to herself. Her spirit and good will are shown in events with her family before the war, during the war when her family is separated, and after the war when they reunite again.
Annemarie is a normal young girl, ten years old, she has normal difficulties and duties like any other girl. but these difficulties aren’t normal ones, she’s faced with the difficulties of war. this war has made Annemarie into a very smart girl, she spends most of her time thinking about how to be safe at all times “Annemarie admitted to herself,snuggling there in the quiet dark, that she was glad to be an ordinary person who would never be called upon for courage.
“Mama, do you remember why we came to America.” I said with wonder and curiosity in my eyes. “Yes dear, I remember the story, because, Grandma Tsunade has told me it enough times. I was about your little brothers age around 2, the day was an unforgettable event to, Grandma Tsunade. It was a bright summer day, the wind was blowing just right, and the older kids were working in the fields, the day was going perfectly, until(Mama paused for a second)... All of sudden “Boom! Boom! Boom!” bombs and mines were set off, shots were fired, and many people lost their lives that day. Grandma had to round up all the young ones and sadly had to leave the older kids in the field. As we were running we were stopped by a woman telling Grandma Tsunade to take
Imagine living in such a time period, where thousands of children are confused and families are scared. That is what life was like during World War II. In the story, “Keeping Memory Alive”, the author, Elie Wiesel, discussed why remembering the concentration camps is important. “The Uprooting of a Japanese-American Family” by Yoshiko Uchida describes daily life in the internment camps. Both stories are connected by sharing their feelings about the unfair treatment received during World War II in the 1940s.
There had to be I thought, an invisible, silent family scattered about the world. I began to look for them, to watch and listen, to collect their stories… I set out to find a group of people who, like me, were possessed by a history they had never lived. I wanted to ask them questions, so that I could reach the most elusive part of myself.
When reading Svetlana Palmer and Sarah Wallis’ ‘A War in Words’ I was initially overwhelmed at how the First World War and the experiences from 1914-1918 are portrayed throughout the book. From the assassination of Archduke Franz Ferdinand in Sarajevo on 28th June 1914 to children of 10 and 12 years old whose lives are threatened by the rampage of war, the book gives a moving interpretation of life in war; not only of the soldiers fighting for their country, but their families, their friends and their children. Telling the story of World War One from the ‘first shots’ in Sarajevo to the victory and defeat in 1918, ‘A War in Words’ uses diaries and letters to present a primary account of what happened during the war. Palmer and Wallis follow a number of soldiers-British, French, German and Russian-and children during the Great War through their many diary entries and letters home.
As I walked out of the courthouse and down the ramp, I looked at my mom in disappointment and embarrassment. Never wanting to return to that dreadful place, I slowly drug my feet back to the car. I wanted to curl up in a little ball and I didn't want anyone else to know what I had done. Gaining my composure, I finally got into the car. I didn't even want to hear what my mom had to say. My face was beat red and I was trying to hide my face in the palms of my hands because I knew what was about to come; she was going to start asking me questions, all of the questions I had been asking myself. Sure enough, after a short period of being in the car, the questions began.
Given her circumstances, the graphic memoir likewise serves as the best medium for Okubo to document the abject horror of the internment camps as she was able to effectively encapsulate the visceral living conditions through the interplay between the emotionally charged illustrations and dispassionate text. Through this particular methodology, Okubo initiated a discussion regarding the morality of the internment camps that may have contributed to shifting the American mindset from accepting the camps to perhaps deeming them as unethical. As cameras and other “modes of media technology endowed with evidentiary weight” were “not permitted in the camps,” there is very little documentation and records of the Japanese American internment from the actual evacuees themselves (Introduction VIII). Citizen 13660 serves as a recourse for Okubo, a self-appointed observer, reporter, and an actual intern of the camps, as the graphic memoir functions as an alternative method of
Her maroon converse made no sound as she strode through the hallway. She seemed to look at everyone while ignoring every eye. She entered the pricipals office, the halls were quiet until a certain badboy yelled, "SCORE!" As if rising from a trance, everyone resumed
She was sitting down on a suitcase full of memories with her knees bent together trying not to fall. Wearing a brown flowered shirt that enhanced the color of her skin and a pair of blue jeans, she had a vague resemblance of my mother’s youth. Her head rested on her hands and her elbows on her knees. As two little birds, her eyes soared through the airport looking at nothing in specific. Her nose inhaled the sweet scent of the Nicaraguan people, while her lips quietly ...